


Damned If We Do

by barbaricyawp



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Blow Jobs, Brainwashing, Character Death, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Electrocution, Erotic Electrostimulation, Face-Fucking, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Gun Violence, HYDRA Trash Party, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Object Insertion, Orgasm Denial, Sexual Assault, Spit Roasting, Stun Batons, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbaricyawp/pseuds/barbaricyawp
Summary: At Rumlow's command, Steve is forced to fuck the Winter Soldier. Typical Hydra Trash Party fare.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of terrible things happen in this fic. If I missed a tag (which I'm sure I did) please let me know. Also, I provide no reason for how we got in this situation. As if ya animals need it...

* * *

"They are life and death merging in fearful union."

-Clyfford Still on paintings

* * *

 

 

Rumlow tucks his thumbs inside the asset, inside of Bucky, stretching him. “See, Rogers?” he says, tapping his fingers against Bucky’s raised hips, even as he pulls him wider apart. “Takes it real easy.”

Bucky is nearly face down, cheek is pressed against the low metal table where Rumlow has him positioned in front of Steve. There are no handcuffs binding him there. Nothing to keep him in place, yet Bucky remains still.

From Steve’s angle, they are face to face. A dark scowl glowers there, Bucky’s bright eyes boring up at him. The rest of his face is obscured by the mask. He shakes his head once.

At the sight of the gesture, Rumlow taps Bucky’s temple and he tucks his forehead against the metal table. His breathing is even and inflates his whole chest. Bucky seems calm.

They are in an interrogation room, equipped with a mirror that Steve suspects is a two-way, a metal table, a metal chair, and the magnetic cuffs binding Steve to the wall. They stuffed and tied a gag in his mouth when he spat on a Hydra agent. Unlike Bucky, Steve can't remain still without being forcibly held in place.

Even as Rumlow loads a pistol and settles it against the back of the Bucky's head, Bucky stays still. The barrel is nestled into the soft underside of his skull. Steve can imagine it’s a perfect fit in the divot there, where his own thumb once fit perfect.

Steve shifts against the cuffs digging into his wrists. His breath hiccups and his head swims. This is going to happen. This is going to happen very soon.

“So, are you going to do it, or does Sergeant Barnes die ass up?”

Rage is a palpable heat in Steve’s blood. He feels like a neutron star collapsing as he rips his arms downward against the magnetic cuffs, blood welling at his wrists. Straining and shaking, Steve forces the cuffs to lift from the wall.

Just for a moment, Steve holds his arms a few breathless inches from the wall then the cuffs slam him back, the reverberating sound so loud in the room that Bucky tilts his head towards the commotion. The light in his eyes verges on hope, then extinguishes instantly.

Steve _will_ get them out of here.

Rumlow pauses and taps his ear, turning around to mumble a command into his intercom. There is a hustle of footsteps from behind the mirror. Self-satisfaction washes over Steve; it was a two-way, after all.

The victorious feeling evaporates the moment a Hydra operative in full riot gear delivers a syringe. It's full of yellow-orange liquid and the needle is as long as Steve's middle finger. Rumlow takes it from her and she hustles out of the cell. He aims the needle against Steve’s neck, squeezing out the air bubbles. The serum dribbles down Steve’s throat, shockingly cold.

“That’s not gonna happen.” Steve tries to say through the gag, but the words are muffled and garbled.

Predictably, Rumlow ignores him and sinks the needle home. Cold rushes through Steve’s veins, stinging along the surface of his skin. The room tilts and Steve struggles to focus on Rumlow, who is now approaching Bucky, who is giving him a command in Russian, who is heading for the door.

“Have fun, you two,” he says and the door closes behind him.

Whatever they injected him with, it’s working fast. His head feels high above his body, and his body feels imprecise. When he tries to stand, he can’t get the angle of his feet right. Rushes of heat pulse through his body, thrumming along with his heart. His cock twitches.

Steve barely registers Bucky rising from the table to approach him. For a moment, his vision blackens and returns in swimming colors. His head droops to Bucky, trying to make sense of his kneeling figure, the hands coming up to undo Steve’s pants.

Reality snaps cold through the heat and Steve shakes his head. “Nuh uh,” he breathes into the gag, unable to manage much more. There seems to be a great pressure in his chest, keeping him from breathing right. The pressure is spreading to his limbs and stomach and…and…

And in his groin.

Steve shakes his head harder, kicking his feet back against the wall even as Bucky drags his clothes down over his thighs. Steve tries one more “Nuh uh,” but it’s smothered when Bucky nuzzles against Steve’s bare hip. The Kevlar mesh of his mask burns Steve’s skin. Or maybe his skin just burns wherever Bucky touches.

He tries to catch Bucky’s eye. Maybe if they could just look at each other, just for a moment, Steve would find a way to make this all stop.

But Bucky doesn’t look up. Instead he cups Steve’s half-soft cock in his metal palm and guides it up against the breathing slots in his mask and exhales, hot and wet.

Steve shudders from shoulders to hip, rattling against the cuffs. Maybe he says, “Please, Bucky,” but now even his mouth feels far away. The only significant part of his body is currently in Bucky’s metal fist as he slowly strokes over him. 

And what can Steve do, but helplessly sag back against the wall? He closes his eyes and wills away the erection hardening in Bucky’s hand.

Wish granted, Bucky’s touch disappears. Cold air rushes around Steve and, for a moment, he can breathe. But only for a moment; in the next, he is engulfed in the soft, wet heat of—Steve’s eyes fly open—Bucky’s mouth.

He rubs the tip of Steve’s cock around the ring of his lips, mouth open wide, but eyes still down on the floor. His tongue presses flat against the head, then slides underneath his length, slowly drawing him back inside.

When Bucky actually closes his mouth around him and _sucks_ Steve feels like his skull is caving in. He comes. And his eyes white out and roll back into his sockets.

The orgasm, alongside the drugs in his system, bewilders him. When he opens his eyes, his body is crumpled to the floor and Rumlow is leaning against the wall, watching. When did that happen? When did he come back in?

When Rumlow catches sight of Steve stirring, he approaches and grabs Steve by the hair, lifting him up to his knees. "How was that for you, Cap?" He wrests the gag from where its wedged between Steve's teeth, yanking it down against his chin. Disoriented, but spiteful, Steve musters up enough saliva in his dry mouth to spit on Rumlow. It lands on the side of his boot. Rumlow looks down at it and grins. He shoves the gag back into Steve's mouth.

“I’ll give you another choice. Maybe you can do better with this one.” He bends down to meet Steve’s angry glare, still holding him by the head. “Either you clean that up, or Barnes does.”

Behind Rumlow, Bucky is sitting on his folded knees. His mask is returned to his face and he stares up at Steve with blank intensity. The gears in his head are turning, Steve knows. Rumlow might not see it, but Bucky is _thinking_.

Steve hesitates, swaying under Rumlow’s grip. His knees grind against the concrete floor, but that’s a distant pain.

“Soldier,” Rumlow says into the silence of Steve’s indecision. He breathes in, folding his tongue into a command. "Clean my--"

“No!” Steve hollers through his gag. "I'll do it." Rumlow drops him from his grip and Steve falls forward onto his palms, hunched over Rumlow’s boots.

Reluctant, Steve reaches up to pull down the gag, but Rumlow knocks him on the back of his head with the handle of a stun baton. Face flushed with shame, he lowers his head to Rumlow’s boots. He rubs the side of his face against the spit, slicking both his cheek and the gag tied around his face. Steve glances up to Bucky, who has his eyes fixed on the wall behind him. It’s a betrayal, but Steve feels relief.

“Alright, alright. No need to grovel. And take that fucking gag off, you look ridiculous.”

As if someone else were guiding his arm, Steve unwinds the rag from around his face. Immediately, he looks to Bucky. “Buck, are you with me?”

Bucky’s eyes drift off the wall to Steve’s face. His brow is furrowed, confusion mounting. Steve shifts his body to crawl to him, but finds himself unable to move. In fact, he is still on his knees where Rumlow had left him. He should be lunging for Rumlow now. He should be using the metal table and chair to beat Rumlow to _death_.

“Soldier,” Rumlow says. “Stand at attention.”

Steve had assumed the command was for Bucky, but finds himself rising to his feet. Resisting the motion is even more impossible than resisting the magnetic cuffs. His muscles aren't subject to his own control. He cannot help but stand with his feet at hip’s width, hands clasped respectfully behind his back.

When he glances over to Bucky, he is doing the same.

Unmoving, but trembling with involuntary restraint, Steve glares at Rumlow. “What did you do to me?” He glances over to Bucky, naked and muzzled by a mask and yet still awaiting orders patiently. _What did you do to us?_

“Like it?” Rumlow says. “It’s designed after your buddy here.” He ruffles Bucky’s hair and Bucky leans into his touch. Steve’s face must reveal every shred of horror that he feels because Rumlow laughs. “Don’t worry; it’s not permanent. Just a prototype, for now.”

Steve feels as if a leash is tightening around throat, and it’s Rumlow winding the leash's slack around his hand.

“Now, where were we?” Rumlow nods towards the table and Bucky obeys without needing a verbal command. He’s back on the table, this time his forehead is pressed dutifully to the metal, body folded up for use.

For Steve’s use.

“Oh, yeah that’s right.” Rumlow rests a hand on Bucky’s ass. He doesn’t flinch. “You were about to finger him. Let’s get to it, soldier.”

Steve tries, he really does, but it’s hopeless. His body doesn’t give a damn about what he wants it to do, and he’s forced to approach Bucky on the table. “I’m so sorry, Buck.” Testing the limits of Rumlow’s control, Steve works a single finger into Bucky. In a mingle of horror and lust, Steve notes that Bucky is soft on the inside. Slick and wet.

“Speed it up, Rogers.”

Steve winces, but feeds two more fingers into Bucky at once. Bucky is a snug fit against his knuckles, which he rolls against the rim, coaxing him open as gently as he knows how. A soft muffled sound comes from Bucky. At first Steve thinks it’s from pain and he freezes.

Rumlow just laughs. “You enjoying this, Soldier?”

Steve shakes his head, but Rumlow wasn’t asking him. He was asking Bucky, who is nodding into his fists, shimmying back against Steve’s fingers.

Rumlow drags the stun baton up his spine and grabs his hair by the fistful. He leans his ear down until it brushes Bucky’s muzzle.

“I can’t hear you.”

Bucky whines; Steve’s fingertips are close to the rim, stretching him wide and easy. Muffled through the mask, Bucky admits, “I like it, Commander.”

Laughter comes from the other side of the two-way mirror Bucky hears and his head drops down to hide in his fists, shoulders slumping forward. A deep flush spreads down his back, hot and humiliated. Steve, too, is flushing brightly. They're both slicked with sweat, and their skin slides together whenever Steve's thighs brush the backs of Bucky's. Steve makes a face and the laughter on the other side of the mirror grows louder.

When Steve gets them out of here, he will crash through that window and kill each and every one of them.

Aiming to comfort, Steve presses a hand to the small of Bucky’s back, thumbing over his vertebrae. Under the touch, Bucky eases some, but his fists are still balled tight. Steve’s fingers are still instide him, proving and stretching.

“See, Cap?” Rumlow taunts. “This can be good for both of you.”

Steve shakes his head, glaring. “I think the only person this is good for is you.”

“You sure about that? Curl your fingers up.”

With a wince, Steve does as ordered, feeling the tight bundle of nerves there. It makes him sick thinking about how Rumlow knows where Bucky’s prostate is. So, he tries not to think about it. He focuses on Bucky and the fact of his body. He focuses on Bucky’s shudder and the way he clenches around Steve’s thick knuckles. When he crooks them up a little harder, Bucky's entire body clamps down on him. His knees shift on the table, holding his legs wider.

The motion seems involuntary, conditioned into him. As if Bucky is trying to close his legs and cannot.

“He’s ready. Go on and fuck him.”

Apparently, the command is too vague; Steve doesn’t feel its urgency in his limbs. He rubs gently around Bucky’s prostrate, raising a brow at Rumlow.

Rumlow huffs in frustration. “Fine, smartass. Get your dick inside him. Don’t be sweet about it.”

This is an order his body can’t deny. He’s hard. So hard that his cock aches an angry red. Must be whatever they injected him with. It’s making his tongue thick in his mouth, and his skin feel cold even though his blood is boiling hot. He rests his palms on Bucky’s hips, feeling the hard chords of muscle in his thighs and buttocks flex between his fingers. He's bigger than the Bucky he left in the 1940s. More bulk than svelte. Still beautiful, though.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” he murmurs and pushes in. Hard.

Rumlow was right; Bucky's hole is accommodating and Steve slides in easy. The tight hot grip of Bucky dots stars in Steve's vision and he feels the pressure of blood behind his nose and eyes. It’s too much sensation at once, but he can’t stop himself. He has to keep going. When his hips are flush against Bucky’s and he’s bottomed out complete, Steve is panting and huffing with the effort of controlling himself. He’s probably leaving bruises on Bucky’s hips. It’s another thing Bucky will have to forgive Steve for.

God. If Bucky can forgive Steve at all.

Rumlow interrupts his thoughts with a stun baton to the nape of Bucky’s neck, just over his vertebrae. The shock runs down Bucky’s spine, straight to Steve’s cock. Bucky spasms around Steve as they share the electricity. Steve feels it from his groin all the way to his toes. He can’t imagine how much it hurts Bucky.

It just makes Steve harder. Shame washes over him.

“That was a lesson through pain, Cap. You know what I’m gonna make you do.”

Steve looks over the slope of Bucky’s back and then to their reflection in the two-way mirror. Just over Rumlow's shoulder, Steve can see himself, can see the miserable tightness in his face. He can’t see Bucky’s face, just the mess of hair still wrapped in Rumlow’s fist. The splotchy flush over Bucky’s skin, the red furl of his hole around Steve’s cock. “Looks to me like I’m already doing it.”

Rumlow zaps Bucky again, this time against his coccyx. Steve’s teeth rattle his in skull. Bucky is silent. But he convulses around Steve, a terrible and wonderful pressure.

“You can either be a fuck puppet, listening to my every order, or you can make some of your own decisions here. Either way, nobody is going nowhere until you’ve both come.” He zaps Bucky again, not long. It's just to make a point. Steve’s knees buckle. He braces himself against the table and Bucky himself, leaning his full weight against him. They’re both gasping and Rumlow’s mouth twists. It might be a grin. “Got it, Cap?”

“Loud and clear,” Steve spits back, jaw grit tight.

Despite the nausea rolling through him, despite the Nazis laughing behind the two-way mirror, despite the sting of the stun baton, Bucky still feels good around Steve’s cock. He’s hot and slick, convulsing from the shocks.

“Soldier,” Rumlow says, lifting Bucky by the hair again. From his angle, Rumlow blocks Steve’s view of Bucky through the mirror. He can only see that their facing each other, communicating something by eye contact. “Why don’t you give him some encouragement?”

Rumlow pops the mask off and steps back. Through the mirror, Steven and Bucky make eye contact. Bucky’s mouth is wet from saliva, his lips chewed pink. His face is flushed, but his eyes are clear as they fix on Steve.

“You aren’t slowing down, are you, Stevie?”

His voice sounds so much like Bucky that it’s like a kick to the stomach. Steve closes his eyes, unsure if he can trust this. It could be a Hydra trick. Bucky could just be reciting something they told him to say. They could have told him to call him “Stevie.” This doesn’t prove that Bucky is conscious in there, giving Steve permission.

But god does Steve want him to be.

Steve doesn’t have much of a choice. He eases into it, just rolling his hips into him. He tries to cup a palm over Bucky’s cock, but Rumlow shocks them both again for the effort. Steve scans Bucky’s face in the mirror. His eyes are closed, and his jaw is grit tight, but he seems focused.

 _That’s Bucky in there._ Steve knows it.

Steve curls his arm up under Bucky’s hips, lifting him to a more comfortable height. Bucky’s knees lift from the table. This angle is deeper. Better with the slight pressure of Bucky’s weight and Steve’s arm pressing into his lower stomach.

They both groan identical, low groans. In the mirror, Steve sees his own half-smile creep across Bucky’s face. Bucky must see it too because he shakes his head and laughs a little, dropping his head to hide it from Rumlow.

Steve makes a guess about what Bucky likes. He doesn’t do big, showy thrusts, but rather digs in deep, moving and rocking steadily inside him. Bucky lets out soft, shocky gasps which Steve can’t help but chase with a few short thrusts.

Bucky is squirming in his grip now, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he grips the edge of the table. “Please, fuck, please. Can I come?”

The question surprises Steve, but he nods, numbly. “Of course, you can, Buck—”

“He’s not asking you, genius,” Rumlow says. “He’s asking me.” Rumlow stands before Bucky, smooths his hair back from his face, and says, “No, you can't come. I have a better idea.”

Rumlow hands the baton to Steve, who takes it out of surprise, and unzips his pants. When he slaps his cock against Bucky’s cheek before guiding it into his mouth, Steve is relieved that Rumlow blocks his view of it in the mirror.

For a while, Rumlow is content to just face-fuck Bucky. He grips his hair in a tight knot above his head and pumps into his mouth, occasionally testing the head of his cock against the elasticity of Bucky’s cheeks. Wet sounds choke out of Bucky's throat and that just makes Rumlow fuck him harder, drive deeper down his esophagus. Whenever he chases those noises, Bucky tenses up and Steve sees stars.

Steve grips the baton in his hand harder, imagining how it would feel to jam it down Rumlow's throat and turn it on.

Rumlow sees Steve watching him, stun baton in hand. The smile that crosses his face then is slow, and sadistic. Steve is already shaking his head when Rumlow orders, “Put the baton in with your dick, Captain.”

“I won’t,” Steve says, but his hand is already moving. He watches with horror as the stun baton eases into Bucky, grinding against his own cock.

Bucky says something around Rumlow’s cock. Rumlow slaps him, and Steve hisses when Bucky clenches momentarily, but pulls out to let him speak. “What was that, Soldier?”

“Fuck,” Bucky grits out. “Please.”

“Nope. Still can’t come. Don’t ask me again.”

More snickering from behind the mirror, the two-way mirror. Steve’s stomach clenches and he gentles a hand against Bucky, stroking his stomach.

Even as the baton works deeper until the grip is pressed against Bucky’s rim. Under his fingers, the metal table warps.

Rumlow looks underneath Bucky as if checking the undercarriage of a car. “Still hard even though you’re so full.” He claps Bucky on the cheek, then on the other. His cock is still in his mouth and Rumlow jams it up against Bucky's cheek just to slap over it with his palm. "What a slut."

Steve’s eyes are on Rumlow. His thumb is pressed tightly away from the switch of the baton. Maybe Rumlow won’t ask him to turn it on. Maybe this will be enough for him. Maybe Bucky, struggling at the girth and gasping around Rumlow's cock from fear, will be enough for him. Maybe…

“Turn it on.”

Steve resists, he really does. He clenches his fingers against the handle. He tries to pull it back out. But his thumb slides towards the switch.

He turns it on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the brand new tags up there. It doesn’t get less violent from here.

* * *

On wrongs swift vengeance awaits.

-Alexander Pope

* * *

 

 

Steve and Bucky lie on the table, huffing. The electroshocks are still spasming through both their muscles, making them dead weight on the table. Steve slumps over his back, still inside him, though the stun baton is finally removed.

Somehow, Steve is still hard. Against his forearm, he can feel that Bucky is too.

Rumlow lets Steve turn Bucky over so that they’re face to face, Bucky laid out on his back. There is come, Rumlow's come, dripping from Bucky’s cheeks and jaw and eyelashes. Rumlow had smeared it over his face with the head of his cock. Now, Bucky looks up at Steve, mouth still slightly open. Steve strokes back his hair and Bucky turns his head toward Rumlow.

“Still need to come, Soldier?”

Bucky nods, body tensing. Steve drops his head against Bucky’s chest and takes a few deep breaths. Under his forehead, he can feel Bucky’s heart thudding erratically. His lungs inflate and deflate as he struggles to catch his breath.

“You heard the man, Cap. Get back inside him.”

As if the command was for him, Bucky shifts his feet onto the table and lifts his hips for Steve. He spreads his thighs wider and raises a brow. _What’re you gonna do about it?_ his expression seems to say.

The drug that they shot him up with is still coursing through him. But the invitation isn’t met with grit-teeth resistance from Steve. He’s aching for it, hurting from want of Bucky. He delves into him as slow as he can manage, savoring the sweet slide of Bucky’s body.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Rumlow says, ruining Steve's momentary escape into Bucky. “The mouth is good, but that ass is something else.”

Steve lifts his head, glaring at Rumlow. Under him, Bucky groans. “Don’t, St—”

Rumlow backhands Bucky over the cheek, whipping his head to the side. Bucky just keeps it there, staring at the blank wall. Steve battles against the control of the drug.

"You're dead, Rumlow--" 

“Stay quiet, Rogers. It’s listening time now.” Rumlow flanks Bucky, resting a hand on his backside. His hand is perilously close to where Steve's cock nestles into Bucky. “Want to hear about the first time I fucked him?”

Steve opens his mouth, but of course cannot make a noise. 

“He was fucking sloppy. Just a goddamn embarrassing wreck with all that crying. Weren't you, Soldier?" He pats Bucky's haunches. Bucky nods in agreement, still staring at the wall. "I had him last, after everyone else had. Ten, maybe a dozen men—”

“—and women!” someone shouts from behind the two-way mirror. Steve’s attention snaps up to the mirror and his glare is received with gleeful tittering.

“A dozen men _and_ women,” Rumlow corrects himself, “and just one Winter Soldier. You can’t imagine the fucked up shit we can do when we’re together. You think this was bad?” He rubs his thumb against the skin of Bucky’s hole, where Steve’s cock stretches it wide, where it’s red and inflamed from electricity. “This is a vacation for the asset. Isn’t that right, Soldier?”

Bucky nods again, working his jaw.

”Do you remember who you cried out for, Soldier? Whose name it was?”

Bucky’s flick up to Steve.

Steve flinches and looks away. Bucky had called for him? Bucky remembered him? And where the hell was Steve? Frozen in the ocean. Alive, but not enough to help Bucky.

“Do you remember what I did when it was my turn?”

Again, Bucky nods, but he's shedding his implacable expression. His profile is a miserable cringe.

“Tell Captain Rogers all about it.”

“He—” 

“Look your superiors in the eye when you talk to them, Soldier.”

Bucky’s head whips up, eyes locked on Steve. His eyes are cold. Hard. Determined. For a moment, adrenaline and fear lance through Steve, but it's just a moment. Bucky's jaw is held in a familiar tight clench as he grits out. “Commander Rumlow fisted me.” 

Steve can’t help but look at Rumlow. When he checks in, Rumlow grins and taps the middle of his forearm. “This deep,” he mouths.

“Then he put his hand over my mouth and fucked me until I came,” Bucky finishes in an embarrassed rush. "Until he let me come."

The electric shocks from when the baton was inside Bucky are still singing down Steve’s thighs and up his spine. The sensation grows as Bucky describes what happened to him. Together, it’s a pain so exquisite that it takes Steve a moment to notice that he’s still rutting into him, still moving inside Bucky as he listens to the horrors his friend endured.

Is still enduring.

“Does that rile you up, Cap?” Rumlow works a thumb alongside Steve’s cock, pressing intentionally against Bucky’s rim. “Get your blood rushing?”

Steve doesn’t look at Rumlow. He wants this to be over with. 

“Go on. Fuck him better than me, then.”

Steve _really_ wants this to be over with. He casts one last furious look up the two-way mirror, and flings Bucky’s legs over his shoulders, driving down into him with force.

Rumlow claps and laughs. “Atta boy, Captain America. He likes it like that. Needs it, probably. Hard and deep.”

Steve works his hand between them, surreptitiously. For a moment, he thinks that the drug and Rumlow's orders will prevent him from stroking Bucky.

It doesn’t.

He wraps his hand around Bucky, reveling at the victory of free will and the hard press of him in Steve’s hand. Bucky makes a startled sound of surprise. Steve stills, thinking that he might out Steve to Rumlow, but Bucky just closes his eyes and rolls his hips against him.

“Can I?” he tries.

“Nope,” Rumlow says, popping the P with relish. "Fuck him harder, Rogers. Don’t let up for anything."

Steve doesn't immediately obey, resists for as long as he can before starts up again, nearly crushing Bucky with his weight and the force of his thrusts. He’s chasing his orgasm now, ready for release. He feels sick inside, corrupted somehow.

It was Bucky who protected Steve. Bucky who gave him a home. And now it’s Bucky suffering under Steve. Bucky panting and squirming because Steve is holding onto him too hard, moving into him too hard. Fucking him too hard.

Bucky looks up to Steve, searching his face for comfort. He’s straining miserably, trying not to come, his breathing a labored pant. Each time Steve moves inside him, Bucky’s breath hitches. His hips twitch and squirm against Steve’s, whether to urge him deeper or to escape, Steve doesn’t know. Bucky makes a long, strangled sound, wet in his throat. Pleading, he’s pleading.

Eyes still on him, Steve touches their foreheads together. He nods, just once and deliberately. Bucky nods back.

Without permission, Bucky comes. Steve is so shocked by the gush of heat between them and the tight flex around him, that he follows him over in an instant, driving down into him and panting.

“Fuck, Buck, are you okay?” he says when his vision returns. It takes him a moment to realize that Rumlow hadn’t allowed him to speak. Hadn’t allowed Bucky to come.

The drug wore off.

Bucky seems to recognize this at the exact same time. His body tenses up under Steve, feet and hands braced on the table. Steve nods and Bucky...Bucky smiles.

What happens next is pandemonium.

Steve and Bucky both launch themselves from the table in unison. Rumlow calls out in shock, hand going for the stun baton on the opposite end of the table. Before he can reach it, Bucky seizes up the table and hurls it through the glass. Steve jumps after it, guarding his face from shattered glass with his forearm. 

The observation room behind the mirror has five Hydra agents, including the woman in riot gear who delivered the syringe. Three of them have their pants open, dicks in hand. Steve goes for their necks first. 

He grips his hands around one man’s temple and brings his head down hard to collide with his knee. Before the first agent can hit the floor, another is on him. There’s a stun baton to Steve's neck, but he is desensitized to the electroshock. Steve rips it from his grasp and—in a rare moment of savagery—rams it into the agent’s eye, the electricity still engaged. The Nazi is still spasming and screaming on the floor when Steve uses that same baton to immobilize the fourth agent, kicking him in the head to instantly knock him out.

Distantly, he can hear Rumlow shouting at him—or maybe Bucky—to stop.

He hears the click of a gun’s safety and whips around on instinct, knocking it out of the third agent’s hand to shoot him in the shoulder and the kneecap. He drops the gun instantly, squaring his shoulders against the next attack. Last, is the agent in riot gear who, yelling in fear, rams him against the wall with a riot shield.

Steve punches through the plexiglass and wraps a hand around her throat, squeezing until she drops to the floor.

All of this happens so fast, he doesn’t realize that Bucky didn’t follow him into the room. He scrambles away from the wall and to the hole in the wall where the mirror once was.

Bucky has Rumlow pinned to the wall by his metal arm. The engaged stun baton is lodged between Rumlow’s teeth, but Bucky drops it when he hears Steve approach from behind. Bucky shifts his weight against Rumlow, pushing against him harder.

"Don't come any closer," Bucky warns, but he needn't bother. Whatever Bucky has planned for Rumlow, Steve will allow. Even if that means killing him.

If Rumlow is dies, he doesn’t care. If he lives, then he’ll be able to tell Hydra what happened.

Now that he's in the room, Steve sees that Bucky isn’t just pinning Rumlow to the wall with his arm, but now has Rumlow’s switch blade against his carotid artery. Rumlow swallows against the pressure and a line of blood drips down from the blade.

Bucky leans in close. “May I _please_ , Commander?” he says, the slight tremor over _please_ is eradicated by the resolve of his tone, the perfectly vertical posture.

“No. What the f--"

In one, clean movement, Bucky slices open his throat. Rumlow drops in a heap to the floor. For a moment, Steve just stares. Then Bucky turns to him. He’s naked. Panting heavily. There’s an arterial spray of blood over his face.

Alarms are going off. They don't have much time. But they have time for this.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, testing. He isn’t sure he wants to hear the reply.  _Please be in there._

The smile that breaks over Bucky’s face is radiant. “Hey, Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never in my life have I written an unhappy ending. Thanks for reading!


End file.
